


Turbulence in the Distance

by Rylescoe



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Cyberpunk, Disclaimer: this isn't good, Futuristic, Genre tags are useless because it's mostly nonsense but, Like so much, M/M, Mentions of Bugs, So much social commentary, be glad it's subtext, is gerard high? whos to say, scifi, space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26941702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rylescoe/pseuds/Rylescoe
Summary: Gerard is a little bit lost without his love.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Turbulence in the Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Straight to my Head by You Me At Six, the song on which this fic is based, courtesy of a tumblr ask from throwupsparkles. I wouldn't have posted it to Ao3 if it wasn't a necessary component in the emotional blackmail of MyChemicalFallOutBoyRomance, to get the Process the Progress deleted scene posted; I am just paying out my dues. So I cannot be blamed in any part for the writing or the posting, really, if you think about it.

Darkness isn’t the same as it was. A vacuum of dark isn’t a death sentence to the senses anymore. That is evolution.

The way the lights fold over and into the mass of bodies never gets old. Color melting into skin melting into dark. Neon glowing through delicate flesh, reflecting and refracting back from metal limbs, just more particles of color bleeding into the crowd. The thumping of the music, the rhythmic stomping, arms lifted to the heavens, or in solidarity, or just with the music, this is the most human it gets. This is evolution. Those who don’t understand that are living under false pretenses.

Gerard doesn't know the words to the audio file radiating through them, but his body sings in the universal language with everyone else.

For all the technology mixed in, the human clusterfuck is perfectly hot. A fever of souls, bouncing, smiling. These are his kin. 

Surrounded by these people, he almost forgets his hesitance to step through the heavy, soundproof doors leading down this way. Who could run from this? But something is different to what he remembers of the last time. He feels lonely. 

In an ocean of bonds, he feels nothing.

He closes his eyes tighter, lifts his arms higher, throws his weight around harder. The lights from this cauldron of emotion become tingles on the inside of his eyelids, every direction his clothes cling with sweat a grappling hook in his flesh, pulling his mind further into distraction.

He stills, like a dead ant in a swirling mass of stick legs and antennae and segmented bodies and– His eyes fly open. He needs to get out of here. 

It’s harder to claw his way out than it is to slide in. Like working against gravity. But eventually he’s at the outer edge, stumbling back the way he came, up the stairs, up the stairs, up the stairs, up, up, outthedoor, _cold_

He heaves out a sob before he even realizes his lungs were ever pulling in air, collapses against the alley wall. The bouncer is looking at him out of the corner of her eye, metal arms folded, like she’s… annoyed? Or worried? He doesn’t care. The crisp chill of nighttime tingles up his sleeves, like bugs crawling–

He doesn’t know how long it takes to calm himself down. To feel safe in his own skin again, alone. By the time he manages, his face is tilted up toward the sky, eyes closed. Like a sunflower marinating in the kind of natural light that went down hours ago. And then he has a choice. Supposedly, everyone has a choice.

But does _he_ , really?

His lips twitch. Even so many hundreds of miles away, Frank still calls the shots. Gerard opens his eyes.

Now, light pollution is _bad_ in the city. Every place has its faults, sure, but this city truly never sleeps. As the hub of the country’s space bases and research, there’s no such thing as typical diurnality anymore. The streets are aglow at all times with screens on every public-facing wall, and the neon never fades. And with that eternal light comes the blindness, brains so attuned to the haze of fluorescence that it sees nothing beyond. So, needless to say, Gerard doesn’t expect to see much when he opens his eyes.

But he sees the universe.

Stars of every color, like light streaming through pinpricks on black cardstock, but they’re everywhere, capital-S Space so full of bright dots that, for a second, Gerard thinks the sun must have risen while he wasn’t paying attention.

But then he blinks, and it’s gone. 

Dark again, like flicking a switch. Except right above his head, a choir of distant lights, all clustered together, blink back. And when he focuses on them, Gerard sees their steady movement. Slow to his eyes, but faster appearing than anything else beyond the sky. The port station. 

_Frank_.

He was the whole reason Gerard was at the rave in the first place. The first time, and tonight.

It’s funny that something so far from the ground could be so grounding. Why is Gerard so lonely? Frank’s watching over him. That’s what he said, before takeoff. He would be Gerard’s Guardian angel. 

With his eyes still on the sky, Gerard’s feet take him back over to the bouncer. He hears her open the door for him, and he closes his eyes. Keeps the lights of _Guardia_ in his mind as he descends again, fingers ghosting over the hand rail to keep him on track. Everything around him changes as he gets closer to his destination. The shaking of the walls with the booming sound, the smell of sweat and alcohol and oil intensifying. Even the humidity shifts, his wrist bracer helpfully beeps. But none of it matters. 

He’s in the room again now, can feel the shifts in the air brought by movement all around. _Guardia_ \- _Frank_ \- is still held in his mind’s eye, despite the sensations he can feel trying to infiltrate his skull.

Without looking, Gerard works the knot out of the bandana tied around his thigh and secures it like a blindfold around his head. It’s the best he can do. 

He holds his arms out, and isn’t let down. Palms slide against his, fingers he pictures as calloused and tattooed squeeze his own, and he's pulled into the mass of bodies once more.


End file.
